


Even if it's just pretend

by andonewillbringhisfall



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-07 14:50:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13437108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andonewillbringhisfall/pseuds/andonewillbringhisfall
Summary: ‘I came back because I was afraid of what might happen if I didn’t. Baz might just pretend that nothing had ever happened between us. He’d make me feel like I dreamt this whole thing – like I was a maniac and a moron for believing he’d ever felt something for me.’ - Carry On, p382-383





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my Tumblr.

SIMON

I spend the last few days of Christmas break alone in our room. I don’t do much, alternating between sitting on my bed and staring at Baz’s empty one, and pacing around the room. I could be practicing spells or calling Penny to talk about the Humdrum or sneaking into the Mage’s office to try and reassure myself that Baz can’t be right about him at all. Instead I can’t stop fretting about Baz. My mind keeps flashing back to images of me walking out the Pitches’ front door and getting into the car with Penny and Agatha and driving away and I can’t stop thinking that I might have made a huge mistake.

I should have stayed. Baz needed me. He was alone there, and no-one in his family understands what’s going on. He might have gone to talk to the numpties alone; I should have been there with him. And I can’t stop thinking about all the kissing, playing back the memory of fire and heat, the smell of cedar and bergamot, the feeling of his cool skin under my fingertips, Baz closing his eyes like a reflex every time I reached for him. I lived and slept in this room with him for seven years and only ever wanted more distance between us; now it’s been a few days since I saw him and it’s agony.

I’m pacing again when I hear the first sounds of students arriving back from break. At the first sign of distant chatter floating across the castle grounds, I rush to the window and peer out at the empty pitch and the woods beyond. I stay glued to the window and soon enough the occasional groups of students start wandering into sight. I scan the grounds for a certain vampire then return to sit on my bed, listening for footsteps coming up the stairs.

When I finally hear someone nearing the room, I jump up and start pacing again, but I can tell even before she bursts through the door that it’s just Penny. I let out a breath and wring my hands, collapsing back onto the bed.

When did he start having this effect on me? (I guess he always did.)

‘Si? You okay?’ She rushes over.

‘I’m fine,’ I groan, bouncing back into a sitting position. I’m too agitated to sit still for long. I don’t know whether to be terrified or excited, and it’s a terrible combination. (Since when do I need him like this?)

‘You don’t look fine.’

‘Baz isn’t back,’ I blurt. I still haven’t told her what happened before she and Agatha showed up at the Pitch mansion. Baz and I haven’t talked about it, and I don’t know what we  _are_  now, so how could I possibly explain it to her? The only thing I know for sure is that I want…  _all_  of it. I want him to sleep in my arms again, however fitfully. I want to be his terrible boyfriend.

‘Are you worried about the numpties?’ Penny asks, not quite understanding.

‘No, it’s just… he isn’t back.’ I wring my hands again.

‘I’m sure he’s okay.’ She gives me her analytical face, the one she gives to assignments that she’s just about cracked. ‘Heaps of people are still arriving. It’s not even dark out.’

‘I know.’ It’s not so much  _whether_  he’ll return that I’m worried about, but what will happen next. Aleister Crowley, I need to see him. I keep thinking about the moment the fire went out, and I need him to look at me like that again.

I never should have left him.

‘I need to pack my stuff before pixie dust gets all over everything,’ Penny says, still scrutinising me. ‘I’ll come back later to see if Baz has any information, alright?’

‘Sure,’ I say, already listening out for new sets of footsteps even as I hear Penny’s fading away.

I fall back onto the bed, and watch out the window as the sky darkens. Three times, I hear my own heart beating and imagine that they’re footsteps on the stairs, and I jump up only to realise my mistake, blushing hard even though no-one can see me. I’m having a hard time sticking to my general no thinking policy. I can’t stop running possible scenarios through my mind. In the good ones we start kissing as soon as he walks through the door. In the more upsetting scenarios, he acts like nothing has changed. It’s easier for me to picture Baz hating me and plotting against me than Baz wanting to kiss me.

I hear footsteps on the stairs, for real this time, and I jump to my feet one more time. After a last, frantic pace around the room, I stand at the foot of my bed, not knowing what else to do. I guess there’s no point in trying to act casual.

The door swings open to reveal Baz and his suitcase. He looks as pale as ever and he’s frowning as he shoves a lock of hair out of his face.

_Baz_. I want to run over and knock him down and breathe him in. And then I want to kiss him senseless.

But all of that feels too presumptuous, after all these days. He looks no different from Baz of a month ago.

‘Baz.’

His eyes flick towards me only for a moment.

‘Snow.’

He turns his back on me and steps over to his side of the room. He opens the suitcase and starts putting things away. I’m still hovering by the foot of my bed.

Won’t he even look at me?

‘Baz, I – You’re here,’ I stutter.

He glances over his shoulder. ‘Why are you still standing there like a moron?’

Good question.

I think about Baz tearing the cross from around my neck. I think about waking up on his couch and finding him watching me.

I cross over to his side of the room. He still has his back to me, peering at me over his shoulder, but not meeting my eyes. I reach out to touch his hand.

He whirls around, his eyes blazing.

‘Get back to your side of the room, Snow.’

I freeze in my tracks, heart pounding.

‘W-what?’

‘You heard me.’

He looms over me with his extra three inches.

‘But I – but we –’

He sneers, and I flinch.

‘You –’

‘What, Snow? Use your words.’

‘Call me Simon,’ I stammer.

‘I never call you that,’ he snaps.

‘You did.’ (Did he? Am I making all of this up?)

‘Snow. I’m trying to unpack. Unless you have something useful to say, sod off.’

I gape at him. (I might be fighting back tears.) His expression only grows colder, and he draws his lips back in a snarl.

‘Are you baring your fangs at me? Seriously?’

‘Yes. I’d be doing more than that if it wasn’t for the Anathema.’ He takes a menacing step forward.

‘Well, I’m glad at least you’re not pretending you telling me you’re a vampire never happened,’ I fire back.

Baz’s gaze is unwavering, cold and hard as ice. I wouldn’t normally back down when he threatens me in our room because I know he can’t touch me, but now I scurry away like a frightened mouse. Am I losing my mind? Did I imagine all of Christmas Eve?

He turns away and keeps taking out folded clothes as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. And I guess if you look at the last seven years, it hasn’t.

‘What about the truce?’ I ask finally. ‘Your mother? Numpties? The Humdrum?’

‘What about them?’

He’s looking at me now, nothing like the way he looked at me when we were in the forest. He’s far away now, untouchable. He’s always been like this, but it’s different now that every glance he gives me sears its way into my skin. (It’s different now that I  _like_  him. Crowley, that feels like an understatement.)

‘Did you find out anything else?’

‘None of your business.’

He walks out of the room and the door slams behind him.

***

As I wait for him to come back, I feel a small knot begin to tighten in my chest.

Something has gone terribly wrong. I don’t know if it’s Baz, or if it’s me. Maybe he regrets the whole thing and has decided to just pretend it never happened. But he said that he’d always wanted this.

Maybe I made that up, too.

No, but I couldn’t have made this up. I can still feel him, imprints of his hands, his hair slipping through my fingers, and him always so careful not to bite – I couldn’t have made all of that up.

He doesn’t speak to me when he comes back. He goes straight to the bathroom to change and then straight to bed. I watch him each time he crosses the room, and the knot in my chest draws a little bit tighter. I want to talk to him, but his name gets stuck in my throat as a whimper.

‘Goodnight,’ I finally say, because I don’t want to end the day like this. He turns to face the wall.

And he’s  _so close_  – I can see the blanket gently rise and fall with every breath. I torture myself watching it all night.

***

He doesn’t look my way, even for a split second, when he gets up the next morning.

I can’t help staring. I can’t seem to  _stop_. Whether I imagined Christmas Eve or not, he must know how I feel. And that means he must know he’s killing me, and he doesn’t seem to care. I wait for him to come out of the bathroom and gather up my courage.

‘Baz, we need to talk.’

‘No, you need to  _not_  talk, for once in your life,’ he says and is gone before I can retaliate.

I fall back on the bed.

I will  _not_  cry. Not because of him. Fuck.

None of this makes any sense, but Aleister Crowley, the one thing I know for sure is that Baz could never have felt something for me. He  _hates_  me. He wants nothing to do with me. I must have made the whole thing up, fucking moron that I am. I just don’t understand how. And  _why_.

(No. I can’t have made the whole thing up. I couldn’t just imagine myself into being in love with someone.)

Baz spends the week avoiding me as if it’s seventh year again. He communicates in sneers and withering glances while I feel like every day it gets harder to breathe. I don’t understand why he’s doing this.

How could I ever have thought that he felt something for me?


	2. Chapter 2

BAZ

It’s a small comfort knowing Snow doesn’t want to go back to how we were before. He doesn’t look at me with the usual loathing or suspicion; he just seems confused and he tries to talk to me but I keep cutting him off. For starters, I don’t want to hear about how he’s come to his senses over the break and isn’t attracted to me. And even if the pathetic little voice in my head hoping that’s not true is actually right, I can’t let anything happen between us again.

Because no matter what he said, this will never end well. I did find out more about my mother over the break. I found out it was the Mage who sent the vampires after her, and the Mage who sent the numpties to kidnap me. And I know exactly whose side Snow will choose when it comes to that; and I also know that it  _will_  come to that, no matter what he says.

So. Yes. I’m going to go back to pretending I hate Simon Snow because at least then I can handle it when he turns against me. I’d rather never come close to having what I want, the way I’ve gotten used to, than trick my mind into thinking Simon could love me.

I still don’t understand why he kissed me (again and again and again) but we’ll always be on opposite sides of a war and there is no feasible outcome in which Simon Snow doesn’t break my heart, and possibly murder me in the process.

So I sneer, and I watch his face crumple, and I don’t let him see what that does to me.

It would be so easy. Every time he stares, every time he opens his mouth and pleads with me to talk to him. It would be so easy to just give in, to walk over to him and let myself fall into his arms.

Every time I come close to giving in, I picture the Mage, and I think about Simon’s devotion to the man who killed my mother and had me kidnapped and locked in a coffin for weeks. (Snow, I should say. Not Simon.) That makes it easy enough to curl my lip and watch him fall silent. And then I feel worse, because I know I’m hurting him and it’s not his fault; he doesn’t know what the Mage has done. But he’ll find out soon enough, and he isn’t going to choose me.

Everything would just be easier if I could make him forget that we ever stopped being enemies.

***

But Snow doesn’t seem to want to forget.

When I emerge from the bathroom in the morning, a week after I got back from break, he’s standing in front of the door of our room, his arms crossed, his expression determined.

‘You’re not leaving this room until we talk,’ he says.

I make a big show of rolling my eyes. He doesn’t know I’m panicking. He doesn’t know I do remember everything that happened in that forest, and in my room, in excruciating detail. He doesn’t know I spend my nights playing it back in my mind, all too aware of him lying right there in the bed next to mine.

‘Make it quick, Snow. I have people to see. Plotting to do.’

He takes a deep breath, visibly nervous.

‘You can’t pretend it never happened,’ he says in a rush. ‘That we never – that we never kissed. That’s all I want, okay? Just admit that it happened.’

I sigh. ‘Look, Snow –’

‘Just say it. I feel like I’m going crazy. You’re making me think I imagined the whole thing.’

‘Well, good. Maybe you did.’ I try to step around him and reach for the door, but his palm on my chest stops me.

My whole charade will be undone in a second if he can tell how fast my heart is pounding.

‘Baz.’ His blue eyes are wide, pleading. ‘Please just admit that you kissed me.’

I’m silent, trying to think of a retort. Wishing I had Snow’s talent for not thinking, and I could just kiss him and shut him up and forget about the consequences.  

‘Snow, let me get to the fucking door,’ I say, opting for anger instead. I take a step back out of his reach, but he follows me, practically standing on tiptoes to get up in my face.

‘Not until you say it.’

I huff. ‘Why would you want that, Snow? We’re enemies. Always have been. It’s not going to change.’

He steps back (and I want to follow him), and for a moment I think he’s backing down, but then he falls back against the door, crossing his arms again.

‘Not moving until you confess.’ He tilts his chin up, defiant.

‘Snow…’

‘You kissed me,’ he insists. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are dark, from lack of sleep or something else I can’t tell. He glares at me for ten long seconds before I give in.

‘Aleister Crowley, you’re so fucking stubborn,’ I growl.

He doesn’t react, still glowering, waiting for my confession.

Ah, fuck.

‘ _You_  kissed  _me_ ,’ I say.

‘Same thing.’

‘It really isn’t.’

‘Look, I don’t want to go back to hating each other,’ he says. ‘And fighting. I liked when we were snogging. It was… it… I like you, okay?’ He blinks those eyes up at me, and bites his lip (I shouldn’t be looking at his lips).

‘Well, you know perfectly well that I hate you and spend all my free time plotting your downfall,’ I say, looking away.

He leans forward, and it takes me a second to realise that he’s testing my reaction. I force myself to take a step back out of his reach.

‘Simon. No.’

He ignores me, uncrossing his arms and stepping towards me, so close I can feel his warmth.

My breathing is suddenly too loud. A little voice in the back of my mind reminds me that he’s no longer blocking the doorway.

‘But I don’t understand why.’ He stares up at me, blue eyes wide in earnest. I don’t let myself look at them, focusing instead on a point above his head.

‘Because, don’t you get it? This can’t end well.’ I should walk away, but I can’t seem to move. The only thing left is to try to reason with him. ‘My family still expects me to help them get rid of you at some point and you’re still the Mage’s little pet and you  _know_  he’ll use you against me. You  _know_ this could never, ever work out. You’re going to pick the Mage over me when you have to make a choice because he’s the Mage and I’m a monster – I’m a vampire, for Crowley’s sake – you don’t like me, Snow.’

‘Yes, I do.’ (I give him a whole list of reasons why we can’t be together and he shoots down my argument with three words. Typical.)

‘Then that’s your bad luck,’ I say coldly.

His face crumples.

I want to take it back. (So, so much.)

‘But you said that – that you’d always wanted – you slept in my arms,’ he says.

I sigh. (Longing. Frustration. All of it.) ‘Are you going to let me leave the room now?’

‘No,’ he says, grabbing a fistful of my shirt.

‘Simon…’ My voice breaks.

He pulls me roughly towards him and kisses me hard. His mouth is so warm, and his fist tightens on my shirt, and my eyes are already closed before I realise it.  _Stop._  I know that if I push him away now, he won’t try this again. It’ll be better… He won’t have to choose. He’ll never choose me.

I can’t do it. I’m already kissing him back even as I’m telling myself that I have to keep pretending. My hands are digging into his shoulders as I try to steady myself. We stumble backwards and I’m lying down on his bed, our legs entwined, and I’m desperately pulling him closer, grasping at his hair and his back and his arms and it feels  _so, so good_.

Aleister fucking Crowley, I’m so weak.

He’s got one hand in my hair and the other tracing slow lines across my jaw when he says, ‘I knew that would work.’

I huff. ‘Figured out my weakness, have you?’

He grins. ‘Looks like it.’ He leans closer, and I hold my breath, keeping my expression level. I refuse to let him see how well his plan is working.

‘You can’t just -’

‘Yes I can,’ he says, interrupting me. ‘If you ever try to pretend you hate me again I’ll just do this.’

He bends his head.

‘Was that a threat?’ I ask, turning my head away so his lips brush my cheek. ‘The Anathema won’t appreciate that.’

‘I don’t think it cares. I’m not hurting you. I… am I?’ He frowns.

‘Not yet.’

‘I won’t. Okay? I just… promise I won’t.’

I look at him.

It’s so hard not to believe him, when he’s looking at me like that, his gaze all soft and sincere.

‘Fine. Just kiss me,’ I say, closing my eyes.

He does, slowly, and then he pulls back.

‘I mean it, Baz.’ He waits for me to open my eyes and look at him. ‘I like you, and I don’t think you’re a monster.’

‘Okay.’ I tug at his shirt.

‘No, really. You need to trust me.’

Could I trust Snow? The Mage’s Heir? We may have a truce, and he may say he wants to be with me, but trust is another thing entirely.

‘Alright, Snow,’ I say. ‘Fine. Trust.’

I pull away from him and move so I’m sitting upright on the edge of the bed.

‘Snow… Simon. Look, I know who sent the vampires, and the numpties. It’s the same person, like we thought. But it’s… it was the Mage.’

There. He knows the truth, and now it’s all up to him.

‘The Mage?’ he repeats dumbly.

I nod.

‘But… but…  _why?’_

Crowley, he’s thick.

‘So he could take over, no doubt. And I imagine he had me kidnapped so I’d be safely out of the way when the Veil lifted.’

Snow is silent. I turn my head just a fraction, and I see him staring at me with an utterly shocked expression. I don’t know why this is so surprising to him.

‘The  _Mage_ killed your  _mother_?’

‘Yes, Snow.’ And now there’s no way he can be the Mage’s Heir and still try to insist that he’s not siding against me.

‘Aleister Crowley,’ Simon breathes.

I don’t know what he’s thinking, or if he’s even realised what this means. For once, I try to make it easier on him. (I just want this conversation to be over.)

‘Look, Snow, you know I said I was going to avenge my mother, so if you want to take it back –’ I struggle to force out the words. ‘- you can.’

He frowns. ‘Take what back?’

‘Everything you said.’

He still looks confused. Do I have to spell it out for him?

‘Oh, you mean -  _fuck no._ ’ He scoots over and wraps an arm around me, burying his face in my chest. ‘I’m not taking anything back. I said I want to be with you.’ He lifts his head suddenly and his arm falls away from my waist. ‘That is, if you’ll have me. I mean, because I’m the Mage’s Heir…’ He bites his lip.

I can’t believe Simon Snow is worried that I don’t want him. Because of the fucking  _Mage_.

Aleister Crowley, we’re  _exactly the same_. We’re both worrying about the same thing.

‘Simon,’ I say. I reach behind my back to pull his arm around me again. ‘Of course I’ll have you. I don’t care that you’re the Mage’s Heir. None of it is your fault.’

‘I might…’ He frowns. ‘I don’t think I’m going to be the Mage’s Heir anymore. Well, I don’t know. Can I resign?’

I laugh. ‘I don’t think it works like that. But I appreciate the sentiment.’

‘Can we just…’ He takes a deep breath. ‘Can you just stay with me for one night and then we’ll figure it out tomorrow?’

‘That’s just typical of you, honestly…’ I pull him closer. (Snow’s suggestion sounds very attractive).

‘And no matter what, I want to be with you,’ he murmurs, leaning into me.

We sit there together, his face buried in my shoulder, and only when I’m sure that Snow has fallen asleep do I let out my breath. And I repeat it over and over in my head, and I finally let myself believe it:

Simon Snow chose me.


End file.
